


There's A Freedom In Your Arms

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [51]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Breaking Up & Making Up, Hugs, M/M, Mickey is not taking any shit, Post-5x12, Talking, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:22:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mickey's loading up bags into the back of a car, his expression blank, face red. Ian knows Mickey's being crying, even if he asked and the man denied, he knew he had broken Mickey's heart."</p><p>Anon Prompt!: I prompted you the "talk me off a cliff" thing and I loved it thank you!! I love your writing. Can you write an angst get back together scene for Ian and Mick? Happy ending but them talking and crying and hugging and stuff =D</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's A Freedom In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I really hope you like this!!!! And I hope that something like this happens on the show, because I really think they should let Mickey have some say in this - in the episode he hardly had chance to even get Ian back - so yeah, I'm sad because it reminded me of what happened, but slightly hopeful I guess, because I know in my heart they are endgame.

Jesus. How could Ian be so _stupid?_ How could he just chuck away the only good thing left in his life? It was his mind, of course it was, it had taken its course and won over him completely. It had clicked in his mind when he stared at the ceiling that night; the reasons why he fucked everything up and just stood there and watched. Mickey had said it. _I love you._ And through all of Ian's might, he had refused to believe it, he had rejected the fact that someone might actually want to be with him. How could he be so fucking stupid. 

Ian leaps from his bed, discarding the fact that his tub of pills – he hadn't taken yet – had gone crashing to the floor. He scrambles for some pants, a shirt, a pair of fit shoes that would give him speed to run to Mickey. He needed speed. After rushing on his clothes, he grabs his phone dialling the number he knew his mind wanted to forget but merely couldn't. 

It rings. But nothing. It will always be nothing now. 

Instead, he goes on foot. He runs down the stairs, dodging all the toys and various traps that were littering them. In a split movement, he's out on the street. The darkness is piling over him, pinning him down, making him feel even _more_ helpless in getting Mickey back. He runs. Runs as fast as the wind could take him,and for a second he feels like he did that day when Monica came back – he would always run to Mickey. He knew that now. 

When he rounds the corner of the block, his heart sinks. There he is. Mickey. The man who's heart was shattered by Ian's single words, the man that gave _everything_ and anything to make Ian better, but Ian had just shoved it back into his face. How could he do that? 

Mickey's loading up bags into the back of a car, his expression blank, face red. Ian knows Mickey's being crying, even if he asked and the man denied, he knew he had broken Mickey's heart. It broke his heart knowing that. Then again, Ian's heart was already broken by the death sentence of taking pills for the rest of his life. Now, this wasn't the time to think about himself. 

He carries on running until he's behind Mickey, breath catching in his throat each time he inhaled the cold, icy air. “Mickey-” He manages out in his laboured breaths, hands clutching to his knees as he hurled over in a cough. 

The brunette jolts around, gun in his hand, bag in the other. Then Ian knows. Ian can see that Mickey's leaving, that he's running away. “What the fuck do _you_ want?” Mickey shakes his head, face hard where as his eyes told a completely different story. 

“Mickey you can't leave.” Ian pleads, stepping forward to hold onto Mickey's arm but to be shoved back almost immediately. He should of guessed he didn't have the right to do that. 

Mickey shakes his head, scoffing, turning his attention back to loading up his car with all of his belongings. Ian sighs, panic rushing through his body. Mickey runs a hand through his messed-up hair in frustration, doing anything not to look back at Ian. Bitterly, he remarks, “Fuck off, Gallagher. Go back to your family.” 

_You're my family._ Ian knows he can't. Not without Mickey. “I can't.” 

“What, you kick them out of your life too?” Mickey shoots back, coldly. Chucking his weapons harshly into the back of his car with purpose to scare Ian away. 

Ian feels himself see red, feels his body burn up. How could Mickey say something like that? Then again, Ian already knew that answer. He fucking provided that answer merely a couple of days back. He grabs onto Mickey's arm, pulling him around to face him. “Fuck you, Mickey, _fuck_ you!” 

Mickey's face turns demonic, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline. Roughly, he releases Ian's hand from his skin, pushing him back a little. In a bite, he shouts, with a dry laugh, “You've done that already, _remember?_ ” 

Ian flinches at the words, he knew he had said to Mickey, his eyes tearing, heart pounding. Mickey was hurt, it reflected in the glaze of his eyes, the tremble in his shout,the clench of his fists stuck at his sides. “Mickey, I was a fucking dick,” Ian starts, slowly stepping forward. “A selfish prick that didn't know what to think, or _do,_ Okay? I haven't taken my pills, or maybe it's because I'm lost in my own sick mind that I couldn't see it. I know, my mind is fucking twisted because my _mom_ told me I could be happy without you.” 

“ _Prick?”_ Mickey nods his head, biting his lip in anger, backing away. He sounds as if Ian hadn't just confessed all of his feelings, like he was ignoring that purposely. Then Ian realises, he had done that to Mickey. He had left him cold and devastated because he didn't _listen._

Mickey flaps his hand in the air angrily, jabbing a finger into his chest. “That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?” He slams the trunk of his car down. “Why don't you look into the fucking dictionary and search under the word _cunt_ and see if your name is under it, huh. I'm sure it is.” 

“Mick,” Ian puts his palms out, ready to steady Mickey and his rumble of thunder. His face is burning, tears streaming down his cheeks, throat clogging. He knows Mickey's feeling it too. It wasn't rocket science to click onto Mickey's defence system that built up so quickly. 

“No,” Mickey spits, shaking his head in a scowl. He turns on his heel, facing away from Ian, grabbing his keys from the trunk of the car. “Why don't you just fuck off?” 

When Ian sees Mickey round the side of the car, pressing the unlock button on his keys, he rushes after him, his eyes pleading. “Mickey, I need you to stay,” He croaks out, standing before Mickey as the man walked to the drivers side. Mickey remains unaffected, ignoring Ian. Ian slams the door shut before Mickey could open it, pressing his back against it. “I _need_ you.” 

“ _Move,_ Ian.” Mickey grumbles, reaching for the door handle, but Ian doesn't budge. Mickey finally looks up at him blankly, the love in his face shed from what Ian knew was hurt. Mickey jabs his finger to Ian's chest, “You don't need shit anymore. You said so yourself, you don't want me worrying, waiting for another one of your bat-shit crazy moments. So, guess what Ian? I'm fucking leaving. Just like you wanted.” That bitter smirk Mickey beholds makes Ian's skin crawl. He made that. 

“But I don't want that, I was wrong. Really fucking wrong.” Ian rapidly fires out, hands hesitating to touch Mickey in his burning anger that was so close. Mickey curses below his breath, still focused on the door handle other than Ian's face. Ian dips his head, trying to catch his eyes, sniffing pathetically. “I can't – I can't function without you, Mick, I can't breathe-” 

Mickey shoves at Ian's side, pushing him away from the car. “You did it once you can do it again.” 

Ian stumbles against the path, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. “Mick, please don't do this-” He cries out, trying to push his way into the door, but Mickey's stronger, he pushes Ian away again. Ian hopes it's not for good. “Mickey, I, I fucking _love_ you.” 

The older man stops in his tracks, the door partially open, his hand resting on the hood. Slowly, he turns, eyes glassed over with tears, letting out a shaky breath as he did so. Trying to control his face, he shrugs lightly, staring straight into Ian's eyes. “What does that even mean?” 

That's something Ian couldn't answer, he didn't _know_ the answer. There was no explanation of how he felt for Mickey – he was scared, yes, but he couldn't describe the clench in his heart, the thud of his blood, the tingle in his hands. What was love? He had no clue. 

After a minute, Mickey goes to leave, but Ian catches his arm once more. “I know you're angry-” 

That's when Mickey finally bursts, slamming the car door shut, yelling out into the dark, empty street. “ _Angry?_ Are you fucking kidding me?” He nears up to Ian, barely inches apart, voice cold and hard, but on the verge of breaking. “I'm fucking heartbroken because you left me to rot in some fucking gutter while you laughed in a truck with Lip. Just like old times, huh? I'm fucking petrified that you won't take your fucking pills and end up like that deadbeat mother of yours, that's what I fucking feel!” Mickey jabs his own chest, a tear falling against his quivering lip. 

Ian goes to speak, but in a sniff of strength, Mickey waves him off. “No, it doesn't fucking matter.” 

“Mickey we could make this wor-” 

Mickey lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why are you acting like you give a shit, huh? Have you forgotten the past years, it _never_ works out! I fucking loved you and I might not of shown it, but I least I tried, okay. Least _I_ fucking tried to make things work for once.” 

Ian ducks his head in shame, using the heel of his palm to wipe his eyes. “I know. I'm sorry.” It's pathetic, he knows, apologies mean nothing. He needs Mickey. He needs this to work. 

The brunette rubs a rough hand over his face, blinking rapidly. “I ain't your fucking plaything, Gallagher,” His voice calms, more pointed, defeated. “You can't just come back to me when you're bored with your fucking life, aright.” 

Ian nods, stepping forward shakily, “And I'm not a fucking scrap piece of meat. You can't just cut me out of your life because I turned cold for one stupid, fucking second.” They are barely a meter away, both shaking, both defeated. Life had defeated them, they already knew that. 

“We're as bad as each-other, this-” Mickey gestures between them, feeling himself collapse inside, trying not to let Ian defeat him all over again. He stumbles, “It's fucking toxic.” 

That's what they had always been; poison to each-other. But that's why it worked, that's why they wanted it. That's why they were always drawn back. It was like drugs, a helpless drug that they knew would kill them one day, maybe soon, but they kept on going back to it because it made everything better, it made everything seem less shitty, less cold, less _fucked up._

That's why they needed each-other. 

Ian lets out a small sob, looking over to Mickey, “I know.” 

Mickey slaps his hands against his legs, frowning. “Then why are you here?” 

Ian reaches out, he needs to feel him, “Because I lo-” 

“Don't say it if you don't mean it.” Mickey quickly interjects, letting out a hopeless breath. “Don't fucking say it if you are just going to run when it gets hard.” And Mickey knows that's exactly what he's doing, but Ian's different, Ian had always been the strong one. Running away was Mickey's life, he had always ran from his problems. Not Ian. 

Ian sinks his teeth into his lip, letting his face grow wet with tears. “I can't stop running until you come home. You ground me, Mickey, you keep me safe. Isn't that what we wanted? _Us?”_ Even now, even at this moment where Ian feels himself sinking deeper, Mickey's keeping him calm. He has no idea how that is, but he can't live without it. 

“No,” Mickey shakes his head, gently in a brisk sob that he hides under his stern expression. “That's what _you_ wanted. I wanted you to be okay, I wanted you to live a life where you didn't _need_ to be protected, where you didn't need someone to keep you safe. _I_ wanted you happy.” 

It's all so quiet, like they hadn't been yelling and pleading just moments ago. 

Ian cups the side of Mickey's face, lip quivering at the sight of Mickey flinching at the touch. There were sides of Mickey that he thought never existed, but they did. Truthfully, he manages to breathe, “But I'll always need you.” 

Mickey leans against the car door, pulling Ian's hand away from his face. Looking up through his wet lashes, he speaks clearly, “But we can't change this fucking disorder, Ian. It's make or break.” 

“Even if its break, you're the only one that can pick me up.” Ian moves his hands to Mickey's shoulders, squeezing them a little to draw in Mickey's attention. He needed him to know this. 

Defeated, Mickey lets out a sigh, ducking his head down. Ian taps his chin, making him look up with weary eyes, and a shuddered expression. Mickey's lips tug at the side, a glimpse of a smile cracking through, “You pick that shit up from a Nicolas Sparks movie?” 

“No. It's original.” Ian laughs, weakly, looking up to the sky then back to Mickey. “I meant it.” 

Mickey's hand hesitate to touch Ian, resting at the centre of the redheads chest. “I don't forgive you.” 

Ian shakes his head, he could never ask for that. “I didn't ask you to.” 

“But I do love you.” Mickey speaks softly in a whisper, standing up straight, closer to Ian. 

“Still?” How could he? After everything Ian had done?

Mickey's hand run along Ian's chest, relishing in the touch, he closes his eyes and breathes in heavily, sharply letting out an exhale. “Even if I ran, took off and never spoke to you again, I'd still love you. You're like a rash that never fucking leaves. But-” Mickey pauses, before looking up towards Ian, fear blatant in his eyes. “I don't mind it.” 

“You don't?” 

Mickey shakes his head, letting out a wet laugh, “No. If anything I want it forever.” 

Ian reaches down and catches Mickey's hands in his own, looking dearly. “I'm sorry.” 

“The words don't mean shit, Ian, you _know_ that.” Mickey doesn't move, speaking pointedly. “You've just got to promise me you won't run, that if you needed me that much you'd understand that I need you too. Use this-” Mickey points to Ian's heart, before reaching up to his face, pointing to his head. “Before you use this.” 

Ian can't breathe, he doesn't know what to say. He had never thought of it like that. Mickey _needed_ him, he had for years since they started, he just forgot that in the midst of falling apart. He clenches his jaw, pushing away his shivering lip, before nodding slowly. “I promise.” 

“No, you've got to _mean_ it Ian.” Mickey chews at his lip, finally cupping the side of Ian's neck. 

“I do, I really fucking do.” Ian pleads, feeling himself fall again. He leans his head down, letting a sob release from his lips, “I'm just so fucking _stuck,_ I don't know what to do, I'm just-” He stops himself with a heaving sigh, legs ready to break beneath him. 

In a quick motion, instinctive thought, Mickey pulls him into his arms, wrapping himself around him into a tender, passionate hug that meant _everything._ He rests his chin at Ian's shoulder, hand playing with the hairs on the back of Ian's neck. Ian sobs into his shoulder, hands tightly fisted into Mickey's jacket whilst he let go _finally._ Mickey shudders, he hates Ian like this. He kisses at the side of Ian's head. 

In a whisper, he croaks, “You're not stuck, okay, you've got me. That's all that fucking matters.” 

Ian nods into his skin, clutching as tightly as he could to Mickey because he could never get enough of the embrace, of the feeling of safety when he was in his arms. How could he want to push this away? Why did he even try? He knew it was hopeless to get rid of the only person in his life that actually accepted him for who he was. Monica was wrong about a lot of things, but it felt _perfect_ to have someone who accepted you and loved you for who you were no matter what. 

They stood there for a while, in the empty street, latched together tightly beside Mickey's car. It felt good to finally _feel_ something. Mickey made that happen and Ian couldn't lose him again.


End file.
